The Gateway Through Which They Came (12 page)

At his words, I realize he has no idea what he looks like. That his injuries have followed him even in death. The sadness in his eyes put my problems aside. What more could I possibly ask of him? I made a promise. I plan to stick with it. He has no idea who sent him here, and I’m no closer to finding
him
than before.

I shove aside my unresolved issues and answer. “Yeah, Ben. I’ll send you home. You have to walk through me, okay?”

He nods. For the first time since he died, he looks alive. His shoulders relax and his face brightens, just a little. If this is the last thing I can do for the kid, I’m not going to make him wait any longer. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the iciness that’s about to surge throughout my body.

“Go ahead,” I tell him. “I’m ready.”

With careful steps, he comes closer. He’s only a step away when he pauses.

“Don’t go looking for him,” he warns.

Confusion hits me. I want to stop him, to ask why, but it’s too late. Bennie doesn’t falter as he steps into my body, melting into my skin and fading into whatever waits for him on the other side.

The pressure within me builds like carbonation trapped inside a shaken soda bottle. My fingers go numb, the blood flow stilted by the overwhelming chill. I ball them into fists, fighting to keep my blood in motion, hoping that maybe this once I can make it through an exchange without losing consciousness.

My body goes rigid with cold, leaving my eyesight pitched in blackness. The severe temperature goes to my head and I feel dizzy. I’m on the cusp of fainting when my blood pumps to life once again. The warmth spreads throughout, and I’m almost convinced I can do this. Passing a Bleeder without blacking out would be a first. At least for me. My vision blinks in and out as everything shifts back to normal, and I think: Holy shit! It’s possible.

I’m nearly out of the dark when my body jolts from one temperature to the next. Suddenly my blood is boiling. The sensation is strange and terrifying. I’ve never felt it before. A fire burns within my skin, searing to the surface. Before I can hold back from passing out, the heat intensifies tenfold. And I collapse.

Seconds before losing myself to darkness, I think one last thing:

Caging the monster is impossible, because it’s already unleashed itself upon me.

oes your friend suffer from diabetes?” An older woman’s voice speaks from somewhere beside me. “Maybe he suffers from low blood sugar.”

“I don’t think so. He does this sometimes,” Trevor answers. Nothing comes after, as if whoever he’s speaking to accepts this without question.

Someone shuffles papers and a telephone rings outside the room. It smells of antiseptic, so I’m guessing it’s the nurse’s office. The surface beneath me is thinly padded and far from luxurious. By the stiffness of my neck and back, I’ve been here for at least an hour.

“Maybe I should call his mother to pick him up,” the nurse says.

“Or I can take him. Really. It seems silly to bother Beverly, when I can take him home myself.” I can picture Trevor giving her that charming, persuasive smile. That smile has gotten us through several mishaps.

She
hmphs
at his suggestion. “I’m not sure that’s the proper protocol. Besides, I don’t want you missing school.”

“True,” he says. “But I turned eighteen last week. I’ll just sign myself out anyways.”

I hold back a smile that threatens to break, knowing damn well Trevor doesn’t turn eighteen until June. I’m sure this lady has no interest in verifying this statement. She’s only a nurse, after all. What does she care?

“Well, when he wakes up, you be sure to take him straight home,” she orders. Shortly after, the door clicks shut and I open my eyes.

“My hero,” I jest, my throat hoarse.

“Well, look who it is! Sleeping Beauty.” Trevor leaves his chair and stands at the end of the bed. “You went through the ringer, my friend.”

“I feel like it.” I lift myself to a sitting position and swing my legs over the edge. “What the hell happened?”

“Let’s see.” He leans against the bed and crosses his arms over his chest. “Someone told me they saw you go backstage, and when I found you, you were out of commission, which can only mean one thing.” He gives me the side eye before continuing. A crease pinches between his eyebrows when he says, “Except, something weird happened.”

My face hardens as I watch him, trying to decipher what he’s failing to say. “What? What happened, Trevor?” I try to remember, but only come up blank.

He considers his words. “I don’t know. Your skin felt like it was on fire and you were kind of convulsing.” Trevor rubs his hands against the sleeve of his shirt, as if he’s fighting back a chill.

“Is that it?” It can’t be. He looks shaken, like he’s remembering something he doesn’t want to.

“No… that wasn’t it.”

“What the hell, man? Spill it already!”

After a long moment, he says, “I heard something… like a laugh. It was in the room with us, but it didn’t sound like it was really there. If that makes any sense.”

I press my fingers to my temple, pushing against the aching pressure that begins to throb. There’s something missing. Something I’m forgetting.

“No. That doesn’t make sense at all.”

“I don’t know, Aiden. I mean, it was a faint kind of laugh, like it was mocking us. It sounded evil, I’m telling you. I’ll never forget it.”

Seeing Trevor this scared tells me all I need to know.

I have more to worry about than Koren and Redhead. So much to prepare myself for. And somehow, I know whatever it is won’t wait for me to be ready.

I convince Trevor to let me drive myself home. It’s one thing to go home early, but it’ll be another if my mom notices my car missing from the driveway. I can’t possibly explain to her what happened today, especially since I’m not sure myself. With last weekend’s supposed “food poisoning” there’s only so much she can take until she starts demanding answers.

Mom arrives an hour after me. Of course this has to be the day she works an early shift at the Grotto. She’s been working the Grotto Spirituality Program at the National Sanctuary of Our Sorrowful Mother for the last three years. When she retired from the post office, she found solace in the peaceful botanical garden that people come from all over to admire.

The memory of that place is so comforting, I consider asking her to take me again. It’s been so long since we’ve spent real time together.

“Aiden?” Mom calls out upon entering. “What’s wrong? Why are you home so early?” Any spiritual calmness she had leftover from the Grotto is gone now. Thanks to me. Again.

I’ve been trying to process everything Trevor told me, even though none of it makes sense. It’s a miracle I made it home in one piece; the drive was a blur. With Mom’s concerned voice ringing in my ear, I snap out of my fog and slump against the couch, keeping my eyes on the TV. I know if I face her, she’ll see it, my anxiety. She always does.

“They sent me home,” I explain. “Wasn’t feeling well.”

“And?” She blocks the TV and stands in front of me, her brows set in that worried pinch.

“And that’s all. I’m feeling a little better now, I think.”

“Maybe you need some rest, yeah?” She approaches the couch and sits beside me, her hand reaching for my forehead.

Moms must have some inner thermometer that allows her to gauge my level of sickness by a simple touch. She’s almost always right.

“You don’t feel warm,” she says, pressing the back of her hand against my cheek. “But to be sure, I want you to try and sleep it off. Drink plenty of fluids.” For all she knows, it’s still my food poisoning taking its toll.

I meet her gaze. “Yeah, I think I will. It’s been a long day.”

She pulls back and rests her arm along the couch behind me. “Anything you want to talk about?”

I want to tell her. God, do I want to tell her. There have been so many times I’ve wanted to confide in my mother. To show myself for who I am. For
what
I am. But that would be asking so much of her. It’s not about whether she would believe me or not. That part doesn’t frighten me nearly as much. She’s my mother. The only one I’ve got. And something tells me she’d be there for me no matter what.

But exposing my mom to this—asking her to believe in something this big—would question so much. Her undying faith. Her life. The world around her. And more importantly, I fear how much she’d blame herself. As if something inside of her could have turned me into this. Whether she’d find it a gift or a curse, I can’t be sure. But I would never want my mother to blame herself.

Besides, what mother would want her child doing what I do? I face the darkest of things. Things that only nightmares are made of.

No. I can’t do this to her. I won’t.

Images of the redhead replay in my mind, her charcoaled face and piercing screams. With them comes the shadow of the cloaked man, a man whose identity I may never know. And through the chaos, Koren appears beside him, her eyes vacant and unknowing. Lost.

Is this what I want to bring my mother into? This mess I’ve created for myself?

This thing I once called a gift has become more than that. It’s become a curse. A curse I want more than anything to rid myself of.

Mom doesn’t push for a response, at least not yet. But I know someday soon the questions will come. I just hope she’s ready to hear the answers.